Page 71 of The Crown of Moonlight
I reach for rain the same way I would reach for earth.Face lifted towards the swollen clouds above the hill, I sift through the water’s magic the way I did back at the pool.The cloud is cool and patient.Tiny droplets turn to fat drops, gather and hesitate, then give way—first a mist, then rain, then the hard downpour that drowns the flame.
The signal fire snuffs out.
I search for Chyr.He has the soldier by the collar of his unbuttoned uniform coat.With a flick of his dirk, he makes a clean slice through the jugular, and he strides to me before the corpse even hits the ground.
“Are you hurt?”he asks, his eyes scanning over me.
“No.”I’m surprised that it’s the truth.My shoulder burns as though a stray spark hit it, but the magic came without the usual rake of pain.It never even touched the ember of Siorai magic that lives inside me.
Breath returns slowly to fill my lungs.
“We should leave,” I say.“The beacon will bring someone.”
The air grows chill, and the darkness thickens.The hair rises on my arms as if it wants to crawl away.
“It’s too late to escape already,” a low voice growls.
A Grey appears behind Chyr, holding back a Ravenhound that strains against its leash.The dark blade of a sword hisses as the Grey thrusts it towards Chyr’s back.
Chapter 27
Power and Price
Flora
C
hyr spins from beneath the Grey’s blade, flame bursting from the tips of his fingers like an extension of himself.The movement is so fast it’s glorious—a dance of limbs and light.The Grey screams as fire hits her, blinding her.Chyr drives in for a deathblow to the heart.She darts aside.
The Grey’s ashen skin is charred black and angry red around her uncanny eyes.She drops the Ravenhound’s leash and flings fire back at Chyr.He bends and whirls.His blade slashes, severing her hand at the wrist.
Eyes burning, flames dripping from its teeth, the Ravenhound races towards me.There’s no time to draw my dagger.
I throw my hands up, reaching for air the way Chyr does.Wanting to shove the Ravenhound away.
The air doesn’t move.
The Ravenhound leaps to attack.With a whispered prayer to the Mother, I throw my hands up.And suddenly there’s resistance against my palms.The air feels as if it has weight and substance.I gather it and slam it into the Ravenhound’s chest.The monster hangs mid-leap, unable to reach me.
Then Chyr’s sword flashes, and the Ravenhound falls.
I stand staring, my chest heaving.
Chyr runs towards me.“Did it bite you?”he asks.“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head.
Movement surges from the trees.My heart misfires and my breath snags as I turn.But it isn’t another threat, only the two Shadehounds I left to guard the horses.
The Ravenhound hasn’t moved.The Grey lies crumpled on the ground, her body a heap of misshapen limbs, her head lying a foot away.
My stomach heaves, and I double over to vomit the remnants of my dinner.I stay there, hands on knees, bile stinging my throat, gasping for breath.
Chyr stands beside me, and I don’t dare look up.
If he offers me sympathy, I’ll break.If he offers me some male word of so-called wisdom, I’ll break him.
He gives me another moment before he speaks.
